The Duke gestured towards a pair of stools set in a window embrasure and, because it would give me breathing space, I sat. Once he would have taken my hand and escorted me there but now he led the way, gesturing to a distant servant for refreshment. Receiving it, I took a sip of wine that I did not want.

I turned a level glance on him. I would dance to this staid tune no longer.

‘You invited me here, John. Was there a purpose in it?’

‘Yes. I never do anything without purpose.’

Which was true enough. Was he laughing at me? But there was no laughter in his face. Frustration at last got the better of my good intentions.

‘Have we anything else to talk about? Your horses? The health of your hawks and hounds? I could fill in half an hour on the new building at Kettlethorpe if it pleases you.’

I half rose, but his hand on my arm stilled me. A fleeting moment only, but it touched my heart, and I wanted more, except that every vestige of common sense told me that I could not have it.

‘I have lost the knack of reading your mind, Katherine.’

‘I have been unable to read yours for years.’ My reply was sharper than I intended. ‘Perhaps it is more comfortable for you without knowing what I think.’

There was no change in his expression. ‘I expect it is. When your thoughts are ill-disposed towards me.’

‘But I am not ill-disposed.’

‘Then what are you, Katherine?’

His eyes held mine. All my possible answers raced through my mind like clouds scudding before a storm-wind.

I am afraid. All you have to do is touch my arm and I am tumbled back into the past when my whole life was governed by my love for you. You are not my friend. You are embedded in my mind, my heart, my soul. You never will be my friend, and I am afraid of new rejections. I am afraid of renewed pain. I don’t know what is expected of me. To be close to you is sometimes too much to bear. I cannot see my future in your orbit, even though I am flooded with desire.

I love you so very much…

I said nothing of this, of course.

‘What are you to me, Katherine, if not ill-disposed?’ he repeated gently.

I wished I had not come. I wished I had not embarked on this conversation. And I stood deliberately, to escape his gaze that saw too much of the turmoil within me, and this time he allowed it, standing with me, taking the barely tasted wine and placing the cups side by side on the stone window ledge. From the breast of his tunic he produced a slim document, and handed it to me.

‘What is it?’

‘A part repayment of the loan you gave me for my campaign in Castile.’

My fingers closed round it. ‘So now all your debts to me are paid.’

‘No. Not all my debts. Only one hundred marks, so you cannot close the door against me. Besides, some debts can never be repaid.’

I would not be seduced by soft words. I hardened my heart and my reply. ‘So this is why you invited me here. You could have sent it by courier.’

‘No, that is not why I invited you. I invited you to ask you…’

My gaze lifted from the repaid debt to his face.

‘I invited you here to request, in all humility, knowing how you have suffered at my hands, that you return to my side as my loving companion.’

‘Humility?’ I queried, barely able to breathe.

The Duke smiled but if he considered rising to the bait, he rejected it. Instead:

‘I want you to return to me, Katherine. I want you to live with me again as mistress of my heart.’

I simply stood and stared.

‘I love you. I want you.’ And then in the interests of the humility he had claimed: ‘Will you consider my request, Katherine?’

I marched off in the direction of the private accommodations, my thoughts as unstable as the current in a whirlpool. Desire had exploded through me with his simple invitation, but cold reason held me with a grip of iron.

He did not follow me.

The Duke was never humble.

Did he know what he was asking of me?

New Year at Hertford came and went, with all the pleasure of the annual gift giving. Soon, after Twelfth Night, I would be free to make my farewells. I sat in the nursery for a little while with Countess Joan. I thought she had deliberately sought me out there, perhaps for a final exchange of opinion before our parting. Lady Mary was busy organising the final festivities for her demanding guests. I sat with the newest baby, another Thomas, on my lap as he slept.

‘Will you go to Kettlethorpe?’ Countess Joan asked.

‘No, to Lincoln for a few weeks.’

‘You are welcome to remain here with Mary,’ she replied comfortably. Then added after a pause. ‘But perhaps you do not wish to. I think you have not been happy.’

Had I not hidden the growing turbulence in my mind? I thought I had, and now I did not know what to say. I would not wish to appear ungrateful. I valued her friendship far too much.

‘Perhaps it is that you miss your sister,’ she suggested helpfully.

‘Yes.’

For I did. Sometimes her absence had the sting of a new-grown nettle, making me catch my breath.

‘The children enjoyed themselves,’ she observed. ‘I see Joan preening in the gown the Duke gave her.’

‘Yes. She is quite the great lady.’

‘And the sword for Thomas.’

‘An excellent gift,’ I observed drily. ‘I shall confiscate it when we go home.’ Thomas Beaufort was nine years old and lacked discretion.

The Countess folded her arms across her silk-clad bosom, much as Agnes did when about to take me to task, and stared at me. I would have escaped if I had not had a sleeping infant on my knee.

‘What is it?’ she demanded.

‘Not a thing.’

‘Katherine!’

I shook my head.

She leaned a little towards me. ‘Anything you tell me will be in utmost confidence. We have known each other a long time. We’ve lived through difficult times and supported each other. If it’s about John, tell me. You know I’ll be sympathetic and you can weep on my shoulder if you have to.’ She stared at me as I remained obdurately silent. ‘Do you not love him any more?’

‘I don’t think my feelings towards him have any importance.’

‘Then is it that you think that he does not love you?’

Which effectively breached the dam that kept my thoughts under control. For that was the crux of the matter, was it not? He had invited me to return to his bed, and since that request—nothing.

Had I expect a wooing? Yes I had, and was thoroughly ruffled when I did not get one.

Perhaps he had changed his mind after all. Perhaps my sour lack of response had made him reconsider. Perhaps the dark clouds looming over royal government had given him more important things to think about, or warned him that to dally in my company might bring the return of Walsingham’s disfavour in another terrible dissection of his character and ambitions. Yes, that was it. The Duke was a man of political acumen who would not act foolishly. If he wanted a mistress there were younger, fairer girls to invite to his bed. A girl without past scandal attached to her name.

And yet my foolish heart yearned, such is the nature of a woman spurned.

Not once did he dance with me. No troubadours sang my praises. He did not choose my company when we went out hawking but rode beside Mary or the self-satisfied Duchess of Gloucester.

I had given myself more than one hearty lecture. I had been summoned to give my expertise to the fast expanding nursery. That is why I was at Hertford, and that is what I would do. Had I not desired to remain alone, acknowledging the comfort of keeping my distance from all emotional shackles? What right did I have to complain? Nothing must occur to rouse the old spectre of the Duke and his mistress. I must not on any account tell Countess Joan why my thoughts were tangled in a morass of sensible acceptance and heartfelt dismay.

But: ‘Tell me,’ Countess Joan urged.

‘He gave me nothing,’ I replied against all my good intentions.

‘Ah!’

I stood, to place the baby in his cradle with the little carved birds, ever watchful, on their wooden supports.

‘He gave every guest a New Year gift. But not me.’ I felt my face flush with shame, and knelt beside the cradle to hide it, but it had hurt. I had been surprised how much it had hurt. ‘There now! Was there ever such a show of selfish ingratitude?’ Briefly, I managed to smile at her across the sleeping child. ‘And I think you tricked me into a confession of which I am sorely ashamed.’

‘Then tell me this.’ The Countess’s face was a masterpiece of gravity. ‘What did Henry give you?’

I looked up again in some surprise. ‘A gold ring with a diamond set in it. It is beautiful.’ I was wearing it and lifted my hand for the light to set a flame in its depths.

‘And?’

‘A length of white damask for a robe.’

‘And did you not think that such gifts were unusually generous?’

‘Yes.’ More than generous, certainly, but then Henry has always been very kind.

‘Did it not surprise you?’ Countess Joan continued.

‘I thought it was in recognition of my care for Mary and this little one.’ I put a hand to the cradle to set it rocking.

‘I’m sure it was. He has a great affection for you. But a ring with a diamond? Consider it, Kate.’

I stilled the cradle and stared at her.

‘Young men are not noted for their thoughtfulness, unless they have been kicked on the shin to engage their mind away from tournaments and such like.’ Her eyes gleamed. ‘I’d say that Henry was persuaded. I’d suggest that John is a master of discretion these days. I don’t know what he hopes for—that is between the pair of you—but without doubt he is being very careful.’

My thoughts were instantly engaged. Careful. We had not been careful in the past.